Have I lived in the shining place?
Do I live in the shadow of the moon?
Do I dwell in abiding grace?
Do I walk in the golden afternoon?

Pass through thunder, pass through rain,
Hear the anguished voices howl.
In the morning, after all,
We will see the light again.

I have watched the silence of the mountains,
I have heard the sky grow calm.
Do I float in brooding ocean?
Do I know where I was born?

Pass through anger, pass through pain,
Breathe the air, so rare and pure.
Have I ever been so sure
We will see the light again?